On your wedding day, what was the most common piece of advice you received? As newlyweds, what were you told over and over again would make your marriage a success? If you answered “communication,” then welcome to the club. Communicate. Listen to each other. COMPROMISE. If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times.
I’m thinking, look—I have a degree in COMMUNICATIONS, and my husband works in sales and has a PhD in mansplaining. I think we’re good. But thanks for the advice. Oh, to be 28 and naive again.
On the surface, they’re not wrong. The problem with this advice (though thoughtful and much appreciated) is that when people say, “you have to communicate,” they don’t follow it up with, “and after you communicate, there will probably be an argument because half the time, you will, without a doubt, misunderstand each other, misinterpret each other, assume things that weren’t actually said, and internalize things that you shouldn’t.”
Now THAT’S some advice (and I should know because as I mentioned, I have a degree in communicating). But I guess people don’t want to rain on your parade on the most exciting day of your life. And I get that.
Communicating with Your Spouse: Men and Women Are Different
I was talking with my sister-in-law the other night and there was plenty of “OMG yes!” and “right?” and “I know! I totally get it.” We talked for over an hour. If I had that same conversation with my husband, there would be a “that makes no sense,” and “I don’t understand,” and “you lost me five minutes ago because you are on a completely different topic now and I’m not really sure what’s going on.” It would have lasted approximately four minutes.
Ten years ago, that would have started an argument. Today, not so much. Because here’s the thing—and I’m about to drop a huge truth bomb—men and women think and communicate differently (did that just blow your mind or what? That’s my communications degree at work). It’s not that my husband doesn’t care about what’s happening in my life—he does. He just sees the situation differently or truly doesn’t understand the point I’m trying to make.
It took me YEARS to begin to really understand what makes my husband tick. To understand what makes him upset. Frustrated. Happy (kidding—that one’s easy). Angry. It took so long because half the things that bothered him didn’t bother me, and vice versa. Sometimes I’m thinking, “Babe, why is this such a big deal? Why does it matter?” He could do his best to try and explain, but in the end we’d both just end up frustrated because whatever the ‘thing’ was, I just didn’t see why it was a big deal. But, just because I don’t understand why, that doesn’t mean I should tell him he’s wrong or that his feelings aren’t valid. It’s ok to agree to disagree sometimes.
The Little Misunderstandings: Cups and Chaos
Example:
Brian: “Babe, why does it matter if I stack the plastic cups together when they’re wet? I’m trying to help you clean up the kitchen and you’re getting pissed.”
Me: “Yeah! I am pissed! I told you, you can’t stack wet cups on top of each other, clean though they may be, because the water will not evaporate and then bacteria and mold will grow and then we’ll all die because we drank from moldy cups which could have been completely avoided had you just let them dry on the counter before putting them away.”
Three hours later, we’re going to bed mad (DON’T get me started on that one. Sometimes it’s better for everyone involved to just go to bed mad. Trust me. I have a communications degree).
That is just one minor example. Then you have kids. Have you ever tried communicating with your spouse when you have a baby or toddler? Or two? Or three? Might as well try to have a conversation while a bunch of kids screech in your ear, kick your bare toes with their tennis shoes as you walk across a large pile of Legos, and all the neighborhood kids come over and shoot you with paintballs.
Brian: “Babe. They’re called sneakers. Not tennis shoes.”
Me: “Oh, are they? What do they call a nose after it’s been punched by your wife? Just a nose or a broken nose?”
Surviving the Chaos: Marriage and Kids
There is no communicating when you have small kids at home. No finishing a sentence or a thought. You are literally doing the bare minimum in order to survive the next 24 hours. That’s it.
And, if you’re like me, you might be a teeny weeny bit emotional/hormonal because your body just grew an entire human, gave birth to it, and expects you to keep it alive. Meanwhile, you can’t go to the bathroom without having a panic attack (y’all ladies know what I’m talking about). I will never forget when our first daughter was born and we took her home. Two days in, we got into a heated argument, and I was sobbing hysterically. I decided right then I wanted a divorce. I’m out. Done. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t get it. I don’t even know who I married. What have I done? Will we share custody? Do I get to keep the condo, or does he?
He doesn’t get it because he’s not a hormonal postpartum mom whose body is like, hey, um…there used to be a watermelon in here, and now there’s not, and, well, we’re really just not sure what to do with that information. So instead of going back to normal, we’re gonna completely rewire everything so that you feel like you’re going crazy. Oh, and we’re going to make your boobs leak. Like, all the time. Even in public. Go ahead and stand next to that crying baby over there who’s not even yours, and let’s just see what happens. Um…we’d also like you to begin questioning every life-altering decision you’ve ever made. Oh, almost forgot—you won’t be able to fit into your pants for a while. If ever. But here, wear this diaper for a little while to boost your self-esteem a bit.
See, he can’t get it. He hasn’t experienced it, and he’ll never truly understand it. Just as I will never understand why he knows who played 3rd base for the Big Red Machine in 1978 or who had a no-hitter against the Cardinals in 1982 and brought home the World Series (see I’m just making stuff up now). And yes, I will never understand what it feels like to get kicked ‘down there’. But that’s okay. Because as he’s watching this all unfold, I know it bothered him that he couldn’t understand it. And that he couldn’t fix it.
Want to know what that fight was about? Join the club, because so do I. I know it was over something very insignificant, but ask if I remember the fight that made me want to divorce my husband back in 2012? I can barely remember what day it is…which is part of the point I promise I’m going to get to if you stick with me for another minute or two.
We proceeded to have another baby girl two years later. She had colic. We needed a break and decided to go out for margaritas one night and have another kid nine months later. They are just two days shy of being one year apart. Before you say it, yes, we do know how babies are made. But margaritas don’t give a damn who makes what and when.
I remember thinking, dear God, if we can survive this, we can survive anything! Seven years in and still so naive. Then we waited five years until all the girls were out of diapers and we were out of the weeds before I came downstairs and showed him my positive pregnancy test. We like to keep each other on our toes. We don’t like a lot of “down” time. Or sleep. We like to challenge our marriage at every turn. Being married is so boring if you’re not in your 40s, sleep-deprived, and changing diapers like it’s your full-time job. You’re always wondering how much coffee you can have before you get the jitters. I want one more, but will it make me feel nauseous and give me the shakes? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell ready to find out.
The Reality
So here we are, sixteen years in, with four girls, a dog, and a house with a large hole in the kitchen ceiling because our kids don’t understand how shower curtains work (different story for a different day). Believe it or not, I did not divorce him after our first kid. Turns out I needed him. Not just for the other three kids, but actually needed needed him.
In these short sixteen years, we have not mastered the art of communication (which is odd because I literally have a communications degree). BUT, I have learned that communication in marriage is not always about what you’re saying, but more about what you’re not saying. Or, in my husband’s case, about what your face is saying. And if you care enough about the other person, you’ll eventually figure out when they want to talk, when they need their space, and when they just want to lay with you in silence. And if it’s not what you want at the time, then sometimes you just have to suck it up and compromise.
Love and Showing Up
Today is our sixteen-year anniversary. Did I get him a gift? No. Did he get one for me? Probably not. Are either of us upset? Nope. Did I cancel dinner plans with a friend and reschedule for October 25th because my kids rewired my brain? Sure did. Is he upset? Probably doesn’t even know I put it on the calendar yet (not to worry, I realized my mistake about two days ago and rescheduled…again).
We both know what today is. He knows I love him. I know he loves me. How do I know? I know because…Sweetarts. I have found a love, an obsession if you will, for Sweetart Fusions—and only Sweetart FUSIONS. Don’t come at me with your regular Sweetarts. No Sweetart Ropes. No Sweetart Gummies. That’s child’s play. Sweetart Fusions are the latest and greatest. And not every store carries them! Skibbidy Ohio, bruh.
On a random Tuesday last week, Brian was picking up Vivian from dance. That’s her late night. They walked in the door, and without saying a word, he flung a bag of Sweetart Fusion goodness right into my lap and walked straight into the office. Vivian looked at me wide-eyed and quietly asked why Dad was so mad and throwing candy across the room. She asked if he was mad that I made him stop and get them for me.
Oh, sweet, beautiful, naive Vivian. He’s not mad. I didn’t ask him to get me anything. That’s love right there. That’s love after sixteen years of marriage, four kids, a dog who keeps shitting on the floor, and a crazy wife who likes to share our mess with the world.
Happy number sixteen, babe. The next sixteen aren’t going to be easy. It’s actually probably going to get a little messy with all these girls growing up and only one bathroom. You’re going to say something stupid. I’m going to say something stupid. We’ll argue. We’ll make up. We’ll scar our kids at some point if we haven’t already. BUT, I will keep showing up for you, as long as you keep showing up too—with a bag of Sweetart Fusions in tow.
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- 16 Years of Marriage: Miscommunication, Meltdowns, and Sweetart Fusions - October 25, 2024
